


Nighttime Walk

by Woofemus



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: During Canon, F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 19:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20215366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woofemus/pseuds/Woofemus
Summary: The surface of the water is calm and serene, unlike Ingrid's own thoughts.





	Nighttime Walk

**Author's Note:**

> **takes place during the time skip of the black eagles route**
> 
> so I finally reached the time skip and while I'm still not done with the route, got tons of inspiration that wouldn't leave me alone after I hit up all the supports and here we are

At this time of the night, barely anyone wanders through the monastery. Still, Ingrid is careful as she makes her way from one end of the monastery to the other. Even though the only ones awake right now are the night guard and workers, she still doesn’t want them to look at her strangely. Otherwise, they’ll see how she favors her right side, see the sweat forming on her forehead from the strain of keeping herself upright, see how short of breath she is as she clutches her left side.

What’s normally a short, brisk walk to the pond becomes a long and arduous one. If anyone she knew had seen her, she knew she’d be sent right back to the infirmary, with extra fussing. She doesn’t want that, doesn’t need that. She'd been flashing in and out of consciousness until tonight, and after staring at a ceiling in a dark for what felt like hours, her spirit had grown agitated enough for her to attempt to leave.

There’s a guard keeping watch near the pond, toward the side of the stables where Ingrid emerges from. It'd been the path with the least amount of stairs. She takes a deep breath before she straightens herself, keeping herself as composed as possible. When she walks past, he nods at her, which she returns. He looks tired, haggard as if he hasn’t slept in a long time.

Ingrid suspects she looks very much the same.

Once Ingrid is sure that he’s no longer paying attention to her, she drops her act and slowly limps again. She makes her way to the opposite side of the guard, to where the gardenhouse is. There’s a makeshift wooden bench someone’s managed to build even with all the repairs going on with the monastery. It'd been a nice addition, being able to admire the pond or stare out at it in deep reflection as she's sure everyone has done before. Ingrid takes a seat at one end, hissing softly to herself when sharp pain runs up her side.

Ingrid presses her hand there before holding it up to the moonlight. Nothing on it, thank the goddess. If she had started bleeding again, what would she be able to do? She’d been most fortunate that she had fallen down near a healer after that barrage of arrows.

… why had she even come out here?

Ingrid lowers her hand, staring out toward the water. The surface of the water is calm, peaceful, serene, unlike her own thoughts. The pain of her wounds are merely only a small distraction.

“Father…” the word slips out of her before she realizes. She blinks, and she grits her teeth, finding tears gathering at the corner of her eyes. Oh, no, she hadn’t meant for this to happen. She fights against it, refusing to let them fall. She had already cried out all her tears the day she left the lands of her house and her father had done nothing but given her his heaviest stare.

The wounds she received in the last battle are her most grievous. Ingrid had thought she was prepared for it; familiar faces she used to greet everyday sometimes never returned, or she would be the one to witness their final moments. Such is the reality of war, and yet, it hits her that even for all her skill, for all of her training, anything is possible on the battlefield, including her own death.

She wonders what her father must be doing right now, how her brothers are. Does he think of her or does anger and disappointment cloud his memories of her now? Does he wonder if she is still even alive? She writes letters, pretends she will have them delivered, and knows that no courier will risk limb and life into the holy kingdom at such a volatile time. She wonders if her house has been helping prepare for war, wonders if her brothers have been drafted.

… will she meet them in battle? Will she see them at the end of her spear, with their blood slick on her blade, their resentment and hate boring straight into her from their listless eyes—

Ingrid chokes as her stomach turns at the thought. She forces the feeling down as best as she can, the nausea almost suffocating. She squeezes her eyes shut and sighs slowly, a long exhale past her lips. And, just like that, her tears are gone. Ingrid is… only tired and weary. She opens her eyes, staring hard at the water as if she could burn a hole through it. Looking at the pond helps soothe her, even if only a little. Were she in better condition, she would have gone fishing, to better clear her head.

Ingrid should be heading back. Her wound is throbbing and she’s afraid she might have reopened it with her foolish need to wander. She’s not sure why she’s gone and done this in the first place, she’s often loathe to spend any extra time in bed if she needs to, and to do this to herself would mean extra time healing.

But… she’s restless.

… will she die before she’ll see her father again? Will she die before they can apologize to each other?

Will she die alone in the battlefield as another mere casualty in the war?

She sighs again, looking down at her hands in her lap.

What is she doing out here?

Ingrid is fighting for the greater good of Fódlan, of course, she tells herself. If she has to side with the Empire, then so be it. A greater evil lurks underneath the very fabric of their society, and she cannot turn her eyes away. As one striving for the ideals of a knight, she _will_ not turn her eyes away from the horrors shown to her. Her pride, and justice, will not allow her to do so.

But will her father understand her? Will her family understand her? Will her kingdom who she’s turned traitorous against understand that?

To walk down her own path of honor and knighthood, does… she have to give up everything? If she can so easily betray her very own home and give up her duty… does that make her fit to be the knight that she desires to become?

“Ingrid?!”

The call of her name makes Ingrid snap upright instinctively—she winces at the pain that shoots through her instead, one of her hands curling around her side.

But, she recognizes this voice, already knows who it is even by the time she can feel them at her side.

“Ah… Dorothea,” Ingrid greets as she turns her head. She tries to smile but it comes out as a painful grimace instead. Ah, so much for trying to seem convincing, not that she thinks she could try to feign being alright by the way Dorothea is already distressed and fretting over her.

Dorothea places her hands on Ingrid, one on her shoulder and one on her back, without any hesitation but her hands are shaking, as if she’s afraid any movement will injure her. “Ingrid, what are you doing out here? Oh, you should be in the infirmary and resting up. I’ll help you back there—oh, that might be too far! We can go back to—”

“_Dorothea,_” Ingrid cuts through Dorothea’s panic with a firm voice. She catches one of Dorothea’s hands, and looks straight into Dorothea’s eyes. “_Please,_” she whispers.

Dorothea stops, staring at Ingrid. There are many emotions that Ingrid can see flash through Dorothea’s eyes. For someone who’s always been ready and on guard with her own emotions, Ingrid can see everything now, least of all the deep concern for her.

“... only for a little bit,” Dorothea murmurs, clearly unhappy but she nods. She moves her hands away, slipping out of Ingrid’s grip.

“Ah, Dorothea…” Ingrid squeezes gently, still holding onto the hand in her grasp, “this may be selfish of me to ask right now, but are you willing to stay? You’ll be far better company than… my own thoughts,” she finishes, grimacing slightly.

“I’ll be more than happy to stay with you, Ingrid,” Dorothea replies right away, already moving to sit down next to her. “And you’re injured! How can I leave you alone like this?”

“Ah… so you’ve heard.”

“Heard?!” Dorothea shakes her head, a frown on her face and her brow furrowed. “I saw you when they brought you in! Do you know how you looked? I had… I had been so afraid that...” She’s unable to finish her thought as her face turns pale, and now Ingrid can see it, how exhausted and worn she looks right now. Ingrid feels a stab of guilt that hurts even more than her own wounds.

“I… I reacted right away. I meant to push the other pegasus knight out of the way of the archer, but I…” Ingrid swallows as she pulls together the memory from her jumbled mind. “I miscalculated my speed and was too slow afterward. I… I’m sorry for the worry I gave you.” She hangs her head in shame.

“Oh, Ingrid. You’re the one suffering and yet you’re trying so hard to think about my feelings.” Dorothea laughs weakly. “But that sounds just like you, getting wounded because you were protecting someone else.”

Heat rushes to Ingrid’s face. “I… I saw one of my comrades in danger, and I only meant to save them.”

“I didn’t mean that as a tease! You really saved him, you know? That soldier couldn’t stop talking about how valiant you were. So incredible… I find you all the more admirable for it.” Ingrid looks up, incredulous. Dorothea smiles at her. “Just like a real knight, you know?”

Ingrid looks away. “I… I’m not,” she whispers. “I’m… not,” she repeats again, unable to stop her voice from shaking.

Dorothea thankfully doesn’t say anything else. Ingrid appreciates it; Dorothea has always known when to push and prod. She closes her eyes, taking in Dorothea’s presence next to her. The chill of the night air stings slightly but Dorothea’s warmth helps soothe some of it away. A breeze blows through, and it brings a faint whiff of something flowery that makes Ingrid wrinkle her nose. Must be Dorothea’s perfume, she thinks.

Wait… why would Dorothea bother to put on perfume at this time?

Ingrid turns her head. “Dorothea, what are you doing up so late, anyway?”

Dorothea startles, her eyes blinking quickly. “O-oh! You know, just… the usual,” she answers. Ingrid furrows her brow, unconvinced. Dorothea meets her eyes and smiles though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I… haven’t been able to sleep. Not since…” she trails off, and Ingrid nods in understanding. It’s a wonder if anyone’s able to sleep through the night, now.

“So, I wander sometimes,” Dorothea continues. “I actually wanted to check up on you tonight but imagine my shock when you were gone!”

“_Me?_” Ingrid can’t help her disbelief as heat comes to her face once more. “I… ah, I mean.” She coughs into her hand, tries not to wince at the slight pain it brings. “Thank you for checking up on me, and I’m sorry I frightened you by leaving.”

“Well, I’m only glad that I was able to find you here! I almost detoured to the dining hall instead!”

At that, Ingrid laughs even though it hurts. “The kitchens aren’t even open at this time!”

“So, does that mean you’ve already checked?”

“No! I mean, I had gone on another night before and they didn’t have anything and you need a key to get in and I didn’t—” and Ingrid snaps her mouth shut, realizing everything she’s revealed. Dorothea giggles, more than amused. And even though Ingrid feels as if she wants the ground to swallow her up right there, she finds herself slowly relaxing, listening to the sound of Dorothea’s laughter. She’s embarrassed at herself but she feels at ease now being able to see Dorothea’s smile and hear her wonderful laugh.

“I’ll be sure to ask them to make a huge feast for you when you’re able to take down food better,” Dorothea says after she stops laughing. Ingrid pushes her hands against her lap, trying her best to not show just how _excited_ she is at the thought of that.

“I hope soon,” she manages to say, and Dorothea smiles in that way that makes Ingrid feel as if she’s seeing right through her, which is most likely true. Ingrid has never been particularly good at hiding her own emotions, try as she might.

Silence comes between them but it’s comfortable. Ingrid still stares out at the water, the pond calm save for the occasional ripples from the fish and insects. She still feels restless, but… less so than before. The pain of her wounds have dulled slightly, and she can focus with a little more clarity though it’s most likely better for her to go back to the infirmary and be in a proper bed.

A small sound from Dorothea makes Ingrid nearly jump, caught off guard by the unexpected noise. But Dorothea doesn’t say anything, and Ingrid waits, and waits, until finally…

Dorothea hums, a slow tune. Ingrid furrows her brow at the sound. It sounds… strange, like...

Oh! Ingrid realizes it in the next second, when Dorothea’s voice rises a little higher; she’d been singing instead. Dorothea glances over at her and her lips curve into a small smile as she continues to sing. Ingrid can only stare at her in awe as she listens.

It is… a slow song, and as Dorothea glances away to stare out at the water as Ingrid had done, her expression changes, becoming more somber, wistful. What is it that she’s thinking of when she sings this song, Ingrid can’t help but wonder. But, even when she sings such a sad lament, her voice is… lovely and enchanting, just like Dorothea herself.

Ingrid closes her eyes. While she would love to listen to Dorothea’s singing as much as she can, Dorothea’s voice is… much more soothing than she’s realized, and she can feel herself fighting her own consciousness to stay awake. How strange, for all of her fatigue to hit her all at once right now, she might have been more tired and wounded than she realized.

She doesn’t even realize when Dorothea’s stopped singing until she feels an arm carefully wrap around her shoulder. “Let’s go back and get you to bed,” Dorothea says.

“Ah…” Ingrid shakes her head. “Wait, what was that song, though?”

“That? Just something I used to sing when I was at the opera. One of the first love songs I had to perform. I don’t like it terribly much but… it’s stuck with me.”

The opera… ah, right, Ingrid starts to recall now. Dorothea had mentioned being a songstress in an opera house before. “You have a wonderful voice, Dorothea. I would have loved to watch you perform,” Ingrid mumbles.

“My! You’re just flattering me.”

“No, I mean it. I wouldn’t mind listening to you for—I mean, I wouldn’t mind listening to you for another song,” Ingrid says, hoping Dorothea hadn’t caught her stumble earlier.

“Of course I can keep on singing for you, my Ingrid! But, only after you get some rest right now.”

“Just… a little bit more,” Ingrid says, “please. Then, I’ll be good and get back, okay?” and when she hears Dorothea sigh tiredly, Ingrid can’t help but laugh softly. Dorothea still has her arm wrapped around her. If Ingrid wanted to… if she moved her head… she could rest it on Dorothea’s shoulder… if she wanted to be a little… more selfish, she could…

“Don’t be shy, rest your head,” Dorothea murmurs as she eases Ingrid’s head onto her shoulder. Ingrid wants to laugh, if she weren’t busy hoping Dorothea can’t feel the flush of her cheeks. It’s almost as if Dorothea can read her thoughts sometimes, with how she always seems to know what Ingrid wants or what she’s about to say.

Ingrid wants to object and pull away, but it as if her body has been waiting for this moment, as she slumps against Dorothea. She winces at the sudden spike of pain in her side before it dies down. Still, she hisses in pain. Dorothea’s other hand moves down, hovering over her wounded side. A faint glow of green emits from her hand, and Ingrid sucks in a breath as she feels her flesh pulling together from the healing. When Dorothea finally pulls her hand away, the pain has ebbed into something more like an annoying itch, but Ingrid feels even more weary than before.

“I thought you didn’t believe in the faith?” Ingrid says though it comes out more as a question.

“I don’t,” Dorothea says, her voice quiet. “But our professor taught me about it, and… well, if I was granted these powers of healing by the goddess, I won’t complain about it! I’m still not very good at it like Lin is, though, but if it helps...”

“It’s good enough for me,” Ingrid whispers. Dorothea only chuckles. Her hand comes up to Ingrid’s hair, short now since she cut it, and runs her fingers through. It is… very calming. She should feel guilty, for allowing Dorothea to comfort her so, but she can feel Dorothea shaking slightly underneath her, feel the tremble of Dorothea's hand as well. It makes Ingrid realize that Dorothea wants to cling to her just as much as Ingrid doesn't want her to leave. The thought... is both comforting and melancholic.

Sometimes, Ingrid can’t help but think about their days of learning. To think, all she thought she had to worry back then were suitors her father kept sending to her and how to fend them off. Now, she worries about if she’ll be able to see the next sunrise, where she’ll be deployed next, whose familiar face she’ll see staring at her across the field...

It all feels so silly, now, Ingrid thinks. If she were back home, would her father still be sending suitors for her, even in this time of war? If she were back home instead…

Would everyone here become her enemy?

“How long do you think the war will go on for?” Dorothea asks suddenly. Ingrid furrows her brow as she thinks, more than glad for the distraction.

“It’s… been three years since then, hasn’t it? I… I pray for another year, at the most.”

“Another year, huh?” Dorothea hums, but she sounds tired, almost as if she's breathed to life the exhaustion Ingrid feels as well. It won't be another year, they both know it.

Three years since everything changed. Three years since Edelgard declared war. Three years since they had all seen the Archbishop's monstrous form.

Three years since their professor disappeared.

“What do you think of life after the war?” Ingrid finds herself asking.

“Rebuilding and healing, of course,” Dorothea says. She pauses a moment to contemplate before continuing. “If there’s an opera house, I would love to go and sing there. People… will need the entertainment to take their minds off of… everything.”

“Yes, of course.”

Dorothea’s hand, still combing through Ingrid’s now even more mussed hair stops as she leans closer, resting their heads together. Normally, Ingrid would feel embarrassed at such… _impropriety_ in public, but war has changed her outlook and she cares very little now. The constant guilt that plagues her, the burden of her failed duty, the weight of her spear as it becomes slick with blood...

“And when that happens, you’ll come see me, won’t you, my Ingrid?”

Only Dorothea’s warmth, Dorothea’s arm carefully holding her, and the promise of seeing Dorothea standing in the middle of a spotlight on the stage with her lovely voice are all Ingrid yearns for in this moment. She reaches out to hold Dorothea’s hand in hers, feels her own heart fluttering when Dorothea squeezes back. Her duty, her dreams, her guilt… they all seem so far right now as she holds onto what she treasures the most.

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world,” Ingrid swears.


End file.
